


With A Noose

by Annunaki_Rebel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Harry, Bottom Harry Potter, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Top Voldemort (Harry Potter), Under the Influence of Horcruxes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annunaki_Rebel/pseuds/Annunaki_Rebel
Summary: A story I originally started on AFF, under the name BlackenedNightshade. It's your very basic "Harry goes dark and Voldemort becomes obsessed" trope, but with a few unique twists of my own along the way. Harry was expelled and has been living a not so great life under Dumbledore's boot... so what happens when Voldemort arrives to spice things up?





	With A Noose

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT - You need to read this for clarification. First of all, nobody besides Dumbledore found out Harry was a parselmouth in second year, it all happened the same, he just kept his snake speaking a secret. A lot is meant to be inferred from the descriptions in this first chapter. I'm changing canon in a big way, also recycling over-used cliched plots into my own spin on things. It may be over used, but I like the cliches a lot. So why not?  
> Second, I actually started this some time ago on AFF.net and I have to apologize if anyone there may have read it and been frustrated. Shortly after I decided to dip back into writing, my mother was found to have a brain tumor. I did not at all plan to leave this hanging for so long.

.  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

And so it ends, with a noose. Fly, Raven... 

Fly. 

~" Tullianum," Eluveitie.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Chapter One : T . u . l . l . i . a . n . u . m. 

Sunlight streamed through the windows and painted a swathe across the room; it illuminated pitch black strands of hair fanned across the dull cream pillowcase of the young man whose head rested on it. His forehead creased as he dreamed, a fitful remnant of a run in with his mortal enemy, whom he’d not seen since that fateful day at his “rebirth,” as it were. Verdant emerald eyes snapped open with a gasp and the young man wiped sweat-damp hair back from his face, revealing his soft features that had only become more delicate as he’d aged.

Harry sighed, wondering what Voldemort was up to these days – in the time since they’d last met, his opinion of the Dark Lord had… shifted, somewhat. What was once burning hatred dulled into a mild curiosity. Although it had been a number of years since the Dark Lord had made any obvious moves, Dumbledore had insisted Harry should continue stay with the Dursley's in the summertime, long past what was expected or reasonable. At nearly twenty years old, he still was forced to go back like some recalcitrant child. He was always unable to refuse his former headmaster's orders, for whatever reason. 

Harry knew there was something deeply wrong with that, knew it in his gut, and yet there was nothing to be done about it. The raven haired young man could not refuse Dumbledore’s orders and it was the sole static fact that solidified his hatred of Dumbledore, far more than he had ever hated Voldemort.  
Harry recalled then that it was already Christmas morning, how curious of him to forget. Something strange itched at the back of his mind, a feeling of dread. As he laid there, the feeling only intensified and for the first time in a long while, his scar ached. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a run in with his nemesis these days… anything to break this monotonous hell his days had been reduced to.

With Harry's brain now cleared of sleep fog, the youth stared at the ceiling with a carefully blank expression. Ron wasn't in the bed beside his, which for this year hadn't been uncommon. The ginger haired boy always made sure to wake up and leave the room before Harry did, and the other would only enter the room after Harry was asleep.

Harry knew Ron didn't hate him, or anything of the sort. The second youngest Weasley had taken Harry's own expulsion over four years ago and subsequent avoidance of the wizarding world harder than Harry had himself. The redhead could barely say two words to his best mate before a pained grimace would cross his face and he fled whatever room they happened to be in. Harry almost wished Ron would yell at him. Instead, his once best friend had left him utterly alone to cope with his grief with barely so much as a word here or there For several years now. It was all quite ridiculous, really.

Hermione, on the other hand, had become insufferable to the other extreme. She insulted everything from Harry's "hero complex" for saving Dudley from the dementor, to his stupidity for using the curse that had probably saved them both from being kissed, to his inability to get to his hearing on time - which the ministry had changed at the last minute. She constantly berated him on Ron's own mood and claimed Harry was terribly selfish to make Ron go through so much and yet still only care about himself. 

Various members of the order had popped into the Burrow during the course of his week-long Christmas stay to assure him that Dumbledore was still working diligently to overturn his sentence on the grounds of a mistrial, or to at least to get him another hearing. But Harry didn't understand why Dumbledore couldn't make these promises himself, or why on the few occasions he had stopped to the burrow on business, he hadn't even been able to look at Harry whatsoever.

Dumbledore had also for the most part ignored Harry's pleas to be removed from the Dursley's. Even after he finally broke down and admitted, through owl, that after his expulsion the Dursley's had begun beating him too and were starving him far more than previous. Dumbledore had written back that while he regretted "the situation," Harry still had to remain where he was safest. Once he had turned eighteen he’d pleaded again to be allowed to leave as the adult he was, but no response had come and try as he might, he could not even walk out the door unless an order member gave permission.

That all was, of course, years ago. By now Harry held little hope that the promises of the Order meant anything at all and even less hope that he wouldn't be returned to the Dursley's the moment Dumbledore could get them to agree that he could return again. Legally, he could refuse, but where magic and Dumbledore were concerned being an adult still didn't mean Harry could get away from them.

Harry's only constant had been Ginny and the twins. Whenever they had been able to keep in contact, the three constantly tried to improve Harry's mood, albeit with little success over the years. They had also taken it upon themselves to try to make Ron and Hermione "see sense" and recognize that they all needed to reconcile their strained friendship. Ginny had often been seen yelling at Ron until she was red in the face, and the twins were known to prank Hermione incessantly when she talked down to, or about Harry. 

Still, these gestures meant very little to Harry, if his life was only going to be more of the same: two mere friendships lost could hardly compare with a lifetime of being under Dumbledore's thumb, his wand broken, seen as an unwanted burden in the wizarding world… the boy-who-couldn't-do-magic by express order of the ministry.

His situation was hopeless. 

~*.}:{.*~ T H I S . I S . A . P A G E . B R E A K ~*.}:{.*~

Harry stirred from his repose when sounds of a loud commotion came from downstairs… without a second thought he rushed down them two at a time. Harry reached the kitchen within moments. It took less time for him to see that Weasleys were all either restrained at wand point, or stupefied on the floor. Then, Harry's sight was drawn to the figure dominating the center of the room, with an unholy smirk on his face.

"Voldemort," Harry murmured, more demure than alarmed. The dark lord shot him an odd look, caught somewhere between surprise and curiosity.

"Potter," Voldemort hissed back with carefully controlled venom, in a way that sent shivers down Harry's spine. A cruel smile still decorated his lips, despite the obvious searching glance in Voldemort’s eyes – an attempt to understand what, exactly, had shifted between them.

"I brought you a present," Voldemort taunted, still with an edge of confusion to his words that anyone less focused on studying the dark lord might have missed, "It is Christmas after all, how rude would I be if I did not get something for our precious boy who lived?"

The other masked Death Eaters all cackled at this, while Voldemort dropped a finely wrapped black package at Harry's feet, a large parcel that clattered to the floor with a loud thud.

"Open it," Voldemort whispered, satisfaction clear in his tone. The Death Eater holding Ginny pressed his wand tighter against her throat, the warning clear.

Though the boy who survived desperately wanted to ignore the demand, Harry merely swallowed hard as he retrieved the package from the floor. It took more time as it should have to open it, his fingers clumsy and unsteady, as some odd sense of almost exhilaration filled him. That strange longing he could not suppress these past years was finally filled: his enemy was there at long last.

Once he'd peeled away the paper, Harry lifted the cover off of the nondescript box inside, and found an ornate pensieve in it, along with a bottle containing a silvery substance. Harry stared at it for a bit too long, torn between suspicion and relief that the box hadn't contained the head (or other body part) of a friend, like Neville or Luna. 

"It's a pensieve, Potter. You pour the bottled memories in it and put your head in," a Death Eater mocked, as if Harry were still a very small and stupid child. 

"I know what it is," Harry snapped.

"Well, Potter? Aren't you going to look at my present?" Voldemort taunted, "After all the trouble I went through to obtain it, just for you..."

"Harry, DON'T!" Ron screamed, "Don't you dare listen to that bastard!"

Ron was silenced quickly with a punch to the gut, followed by a short "Crucio," and then a stupefy.

Harry sighed in a long suffering sort of way, as though merely inconvenienced; it drew further looks of confusion from the dark lord and his death eaters. But Harry paid it little mind and emptied the bottle, then placed his head in to view the memories. 

O-O / HPLV / O-O

Voldemort waited patiently for Potter to re-emerge, a vicious grin on his face, as he eagerly awaited the much anticipated reaction he was certain he would get. As expected, Potter pulled his head away from the pensieve, with a broken look on his face, but the next words out of the boy's mouth left Lord Voldemort staring.

"Thank you," Harry said, voice trembling and full of wonder, as well as a genuine appreciation.

"What-?" Lord Voldemort spat out, feeling, for perhaps the first time in his life, entirely wrong footed - as though he had missed something significant.

"Thank you," Harry repeated, in a tone that sounded well and truly touched with emotion, "This is the best present I've ever had." 

The young man's friends stared at him in absolute horror, but Harry Potter's bright green eyes seemed to be fixated only on Lord Voldemort and a distant point somewhere beyond the scope of seeing. Harry continued talking, seeming oblivious to the looks of incredulity coming from the entire room.

"I like how you added the message in blood to the wall in Dudley's bedroom," Harry voice shook and sounded warped, tinged with a curious sounding mix of awe and perhaps a moderate fear of his own glee.

"I had assumed that was your room," Lord Voldemort stated, perplexed.

"Oh no, not at all," Harry said, "They put me back in my cupboard after I was expelled... that was their precious Dudders' room," the last was all but sneered.

After saying this, Harry's face then took on a glazed expression as he mused, "Dudley really did scream beautifully for you..."

"Potter,” Lord Voldemort began, as he grabbed the boy's arm, "This wasn't-" he started, stopped and had to actually try again, “It was not meant to be – for Merlin's sake, boy, I wasn’t trying to…”

"But it was the best gift I've ever gotten," Harry said, eyes wide with awe and fixed on his so called nemesis… his voice sounded entirely odd to Lord Voldemort's ears. Worshipful, almost, but surely that could not be? 

Then Harry fully focused his eyes on Lord Voldemort, as killing curse green stared determined and curiously into deep red, truly evaluating his so-called nemesis for perhaps the first time in his life. Lord Voldemort stared back, unsure of how to react to this far stranger young man, entirely different to the boy he hadn't seen since his return. Potter had changed far more than anticipated in only a little over five years.

"You have no idea what you've done for me," Harry stated in parseltongue, "None at all. I’m free now, Dumbledore can’t force me to obey him now… I've dreamed of this... exactly this! And shadow, he whispers to me about it. You killed them just how shadow always promised me he would..."

"What?" Lord Voldemort hissed back, frustration edging into his confusion, "Shadow? Who are you speaking of-?"

Lord Voldemort felt certain the boy had no friends by the name of "Shadow," and the Potter brat had never struck him as all that insane before now, but he was starting to rethink that assessment. 

Harry stared at Lord Voldemort, warily, before he finally replied after a long pause. 

"Shadow is... In my mind. Sometimes, Shadow dreams about you. And he talks to me, he always has. He always tells me that no muggle filth should dare to lay their hands on... What's his. Me, I think he means."

Lord Voldemort took a long look at the boy as the trickling sense of alarm continued to grow in the back of his mind. 

"Tell me, child. How is it that you can speak this language? I have never heard of a parselmouth in the Potter family, " Voldemort asked, an edge of something tense in his voice, something uncertain. 

“I… don't know," Harry replied, still in parsel, “Dumbledore said that it must have come from you. That you transferred some of your power to me." 

"My power..? That's impossible!” The Dark Lord began, then faltered; “Unless..." Lord Voldemort trailed off and stared at the Potter boy, perplexed. But with a growing suspicion planting itself firmly in his mind.

"A change of plans," Lord Voldemort said, once the information had finally processed, "Leave the others; I'm taking Potter with me."

Harry looked on at his friends, with vaguely apathetic dismay, as the Dark Lord apparated away with him. He dearly hoped the Dark Lord's words had meant Ginny and the twins would be safe. The scenery changed abruptly and Harry groaned as they landed in what looked to be a posh sitting room, though Harry barely caught a glance before his legs wobbled dangerously and he collided into the Dark Lord, who barely managed to catch him.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, embarrassed. This entire situation felt surreal to him, but he had not failed to notice the Dark Lord no longer resembled a snake. His face was closer to how Tom Riddle had looked in the chamber, though more defined and older certainly, with his vivid red eyes and long wavy black hair that only added to the man's attractiveness.

Lord Voldemort, to his credit, merely raised an eyebrow despite the odd behavior of his… nemesis? If he could still be called that. The young man was clearly not right in the head and… if his suspicions proved correct, he had indeed missed something vitally important these past several years that would change their dynamic entirely.  
“Potter, here is what you are going to do. You see that chair over there? You will sit down in it, you will not attempt any foolishness and if – _if_ you do exactly as I ask, you will leave here unharmed.”

A minor lie. If his suspicions proved correct, the boy wouldn’t be leaving here at all but he did not need to know this yet. No need to get ahead of himself.

Harry’s eyes widened fractionally, but he only nodded mutely and crossed the room to sit.

“Good boy,” Lord Voldemort mocked in dulcet tones, but rather than provoking the expected response, Harry instead blushed fiercely and ducked his head. How… positively interesting. 

“Potter… no, Harry,” Lord Voldemort amended, as he crossed the room and grasped the boy's chin in his hand. He observed with satisfaction the way his enemy gasped at the touch… the slight dilation of the boy's eyes and Lord Voldemort knew then that however this turned out, he wouldn’t be letting Harry leave – not today, nor ever.

“Look in my eyes,” the Dark Lord demanded and was gratified to see Harry’s instant obedience, “This should not hurt if you don’t resist me. I need to confirm something, I must know what this “shadow” is, and once I do our current… predicament, may become a great deal clearer.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied dutifully, wholly unsure how else to respond, but entirely certain he no longer had any wish to disrespect this powerful, beautiful man in front of him. This man who had, impossibly, saved him from a hell he’d thought he would never wake from.

“Prepare yourself,” Lord Voldemort stated, and then the world melted away.

O-O // HPLV // O-O

Whatever he had been expecting, Lord Voldemort decided, this was far from it. The young man's mindscape was utter chaos. Not in a lazy or inexperienced occlumens sort of way, but in the kind of way that only the truly disturbed managed to reach. Staircases spiralling into nothing, shadows and darkness everywhere, no clear sense of where one was standing or where one might go.

“Hello,” a curious sounding, soft voice spoke from Lord Voldemort’s left… and Lord Voldemort did not get startled by anything, but if he ever had been subject to being startled, this might have qualified as that.

The red eyed Lord whirled around and faced the voice, only to find a much different version of Potter standing there. Just as waifish and delicate, certainly, but with a wholly ethereal quality that bordered on surreal. One of his eyes was the usual green but the other was white, matching a lock of pure white hair that cascaded down over his shoulder, which made his night-black hair stand out all the more. His skin was a creamy ivory and if Lord Voldemort did not know better, he would assume Harry to be a male siren come to lure him to his doom.

“We've been expecting you,” this faux-Harry said, “You took longer than we would have liked!” 

“…We?” Lord Voldemort asked, already having the sense that he might not want to know the answer.

“Yes,” a voice stated loudly to his left, and Voldemort whirled around to face it; all suspicions finally confirmed.

A far younger version of himself stared back, albeit with similar and unusual features that almost matched faux-Harry's. Bicolored red and white eyes, though the white eye was on the opposite side of the face - Harry's left eye was white, while this young Voldemort’s right eye was the white one. 

“So it is true,” Voldemort whispered, eye wide. “How can this be?”

“You already know that, dearest ‘me,’ or you wouldn’t have come here to look,” the younger Voldemort stated, “And it took us long enough, really, have you any idea how long I’ve been waiting? Under that insufferable fool's boot, endlessly waiting for my other self to wake the fuck up for once and SEE me!”

Lord Voldemort reared back, wholly unaccustomed to any version of himself swearing like a less educated muggle. His lip nearly curled in distaste, but then the full weight of this situation settled in. 

Harry Potter – his ONLY prophesied downfall and his so named equal – belonged to him. And always had! The old fool, Dumbledore… no doubt he knew. Why else had he thrown Harry at him, year after year, with no training- almost as if he’d hoped the boy would die a faster death? 

Lord Voldemort sneered; Dumbledore had played him. What might have happened had he destroyed a literal part of himself? 

This could not stand. Harry was his equal in every way that mattered. Harry held his soul. This boy was precious to him now. And always should have been. Harry… was _his_.

O-O //HPLV// O-O

If he weren’t already sitting, Harry knew he would have fallen over the moment Lord Voldemort left his mind. As it was, he tipped over just a little, nearly laying sideways across the armrest. His eyes were wide and his breathing uneven; his entire being shaken to the core by the influx of emotions he had felt pouring off the Dark Lord. 

Harry chanced a look up then and was so blown away by the look of sheer want in Voldemort's eyes that he full-body shuddered. Harry wasn’t even certain the Dark Lord was aware of the look he was giving him, with all the emotions he could clearly feel storming through the older man's body, ranging from regret to the most intensely desperate possessiveness that Harry had ever been exposed to in his two short decades of life.

Lord Voldemort pitched himself forward almost violently and pulled Harry to his feet, forcing the younger man's body to collide right into his own, chest to chest, flush against the other. The young man gasped, a loud sound that tore through the otherwise silent but charged atmosphere. His breaths heaved out in audibly stuttered pants and Harry’s thoughts spun wildly, unable to settle on any clear one thing.

“ _Mine,_ ” Lord Voldemort whispered into Harry's ear in parseltongue, with such sensual conviction that Harry could not avoid another full body shudder; one that Voldemort felt in full, as Harry’s lithe body shivered and twitched against his own. A truly dangerous smile stretched across the dark lord’s face then, a look so charming and pleased that it far from failed at being nothing short of obscene.

“Wha…” Harry started, “What are you going to… _do_ to me?” And _oh,_ Harry could have kicked himself the very moment those all-too unintentionally suggestive words left his lips.

The smirk on Voldemort’s face only grew more devious as he responded, voice pitched low. “Why, Harry, did you have something _else_ in mind that you think I should be _doing to you_?” 

And of course, Harry blushed more violently than he had in his entire life, that much was certain; if he wasn’t mistaken, something similar to a very much not eloquent, “guh!” had just broken loose from his throat entirely, without the express consent of his brain.

And Lord Voldemort laughed then, a truly mesmerizing sound (not that Harry was paying that much attention, no, not at all) that spoke of a true, warm amusement… not merely just the high, chilled laugh he seemed to reserve exclusively for his followers and enemies. 

“How _delightful_ you’ve grown to be, my dear Harry….” Lord Voldemort said, pleased. “I do believe I will… _enjoy_ you… a great deal.”

And Harry made a strangled choking sound deep in his throat, utterly undone by the bizarre situation he found himself in – being repeatedly flirted with by the most powerful, dangerous man in the entire world - a man he’d thought hated his guts until only just today when he’d been presented with the most wonderful gift. A gift he’d been woefully unprepared to enjoy as much as he had. Truly, it revealed far more than he’d ever expected about just how thoroughly the Dursleys and Dumbledore had broken some vital part inside of him, something fundamental that changed everything about the kind of person he thought he’d been.

“Don’t worry, Harry. Everything will be different from now on,” Voldemort assured, his tone now serious. “I have a great deal to explain to you, but for now, you only need understand that you are _precious_ to me now. No harm will come to you, my dear. You will be safe here.” 

Harry stared up into crimson irises, and considered those words. How long had he wished to be out from under Dumbledore’s thumb, how much had he longed for something – anything – to change? It seemed barely believable that this could be real, and yet…. _And yet_. Voldemort… he had never lied to him, not even once, unlike Dumbledore.

This had to be real.

“Okay,” Harry said in a quiet, utterly submissive voice.

Lord Voldemort truly would be a liar if he could not admit to himself how strongly the boy’s easy agreement and softly spoken words had affected him. He saw this youth through entirely different eyes now, and he could see clearly just how appealing Harry Potter had become. The slender body which fit perfectly against Lord Voldemort’s own. The beautiful, elfin features that Harry had grown into. The waves of magic flowing off the boy, that clearly spoke of just how powerful his Harry had become. And the fact that right now, in this exact moment, a part of Lord Voldemort was _inside_ of his attractive once-enemy.

To say he was tempted would not even begin to do this feeling raging through him any justice. And by the looks of it – his absolutely wrecked expression- Harry felt it, too.

How truly... fortunate, could one dark lord possibly hope to be?

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, the extended chapter of my story I started years back and tragically never finished. I have been away from writing fanfiction for some time now, so please do excuse the likely myriad of errors in this chapter. I wanted to get “back on the horse,” so to say, and only did a fast once over to check for mistakes. I’m sure I missed some.
> 
> As to this story, I expect it to be somewhat short – around ten chapters – and equal parts romantic, sensual and disturbing. Well, disturbing in that Harry will be “discovering” his inner darkness. It’s your basic “Voldemort becomes lovingly obsessed with horcrux Harry" trope, but with some lovely twists along the way and, OH YES, we *will* see more of “Shadow.” xD


End file.
